Soldier On
by theverystuffoflife
Summary: He said she'd always understood him, but Sam realised too late that Iain needed help when he arrived in Holby, and her failure to see his suffering might have led him to the end of his life. One-shot.


**_hi :) I wrote a oneshot thing which is completely crap and very morbid but it's been niggling away in my brain all day since I watched the red button special (which was amazing). if any of you read my other fanfic, new chapter tomorrow but as it's planned to span around 30 chapters id say you could forgive me for going on a bit of a tangent. Anyway, enjoy...I suppose ;)_**

_"No one told us soon playtime would end, and all we'd have left was scars and nightmares."_

I'm not sure what it was that woke me up at 4am that morning, but it was so sudden it scared me. I was used to fitful sleep and waking up screaming, the unbearable pain of terror eating away at my stomach. I was so used to it that it became routine, appreciated even, it reminded me I was still human. I still could feel something, I wasn't just numb. When I woke up feeling nothing, just calm, it was even more terrifying than the utter panic that then washed over me within seconds of stirring.

Maybe it was him, sending me a sign, that everything would be okay. Maybe I was in tune with him, he told me I always understood him. At the time I simply brushed it off, dismissing his feelings for me, but I did, and he understood me.  
His feelings were simply a nuisance, I'd just got engaged to someone else. When he turned up in Holby, all the nightmares returned, and along with it a new tension between myself and Tom. He was jealous and he was worried, and no matter the amount of times I reassured him I wasn't going to leave him, it put up yet another wall between us, and I blamed Iain for that.  
All I could think about was why he turned up. I'd made it clear when I left Afghanistan almost two years before I couldn't deal with being in Afghan, with him, when I saw him at the GMC hearing less than a year after, it seemed like he had accepted that. So why now?

Never did I think something could have happened and that I should have been there. That he needed me like I'd once needed him. I was so selfish.

The day he tried resuscitating the dead policewoman, that's when I first realised he had changed, something had happened. He was always so calm, he was my rock, he was there for me when I killed Salay, seeing me at most vulnerable when I didn't want to go on any longer, staying with me to make sure I didn't do anything stupid, supporting me instead of my own husband. The Iain I thought I knew- he wasn't there in resus.  
When he told me about the bombing, I'd gone with him to see Kenny. I'm still not sure why I agreed to come, I barely knew the man, but now I'm glad I did, though I wish I could have noticed a little more of the shell Iain had become.  
Never did I think even when I noticed how he'd changed in resus that he was really struggling.

I didn't think he would ever do what he did, but what did I know?

It was as if I was on autopilot as I made my way to Iain's flat. It was 4am, cold, dark and raining, I was lucky I didn't crash the car. I have no idea how I even found it, I'd only been there once before.  
The feeling that something was wrong was eating me up and it was horrific.  
I knew in my heart, he wasn't here anymore.

I thought I had somewhat mentally prepared myself for what I would find when I got there, but deep down I was scared, I wasn't ready to see something which was inevitable but would break my heart into pieces. I sat outside his front door for over an hour, praying he'd open it, ignoring the frantic phone calls Tom was making vibrating in my pocket.  
Just crying.

Eventually, I forced open the door with strength I didn't know I had in that moment. I had to do this for him, make sure he wasn't left alone in his flat for hours, it was the least I could do.

I think the first thing I thought when I saw his body hanging from the ceiling of the living room was how he seemed to shrink the moment he died. He looked so small, so vulnerable. Most of all, he looked broken.

It looked like he had tidied up his flat before he'd done it. I found myself smiling, it was such a typical Iain thing to do. He was such a messy person, but with every inspection we had of our base, he'd spend hours making sure every inch of his bedroom was immaculate. He respected everyone, and it was clear he was sorry for the person who discovered his body. I wonder if he thought it might be me.

Cutting his body down from the ceiling was the most horrific thing I'd ever done in my life. The moment the scissors cut through the fabric and he fell into my arms, his broken neck meaning his head lolled to the side, I felt the urge to throw up.  
What had I done?  
I'd killed him, because I was too selfish to notice he needed my help.

It was as if a hysterical part of me clicked in my brain, and I found myself desperately trying to save his life. I knew he was dead, he wouldn't have survived the spinal injury or brain damage caused by the asphyxiation even if I'd got him breathing again, but I couldn't stop myself desperately pounding his chest, screaming at him to wake up. I had called Dixie, begging her to come round in an ambulance to try and save him.  
She'd blue lighted her way round to his flat with Jeff even though I'm sure she knew he was already long gone.

The moment I was pulled off of Iain's body and into Jeff's arms, that was when I lost it. I don't think I had cried as much since I'd killed Salay, when Iain was there to comfort me. My body ached as it shook with sobs.  
As far as I was concerned, in that moment, I was a murderer. Why had I not noticed that he was struggling so much he was ready to end his life? I'd killed him.

I remember Tom coming round to the flat, holding me and trying desperately to calm me down as I screamed and punched his chest in anger and frustration...and utter devastation.  
Dixie had sat, holding Iain's hand, for over an hour whilst the police bustled around us. It should have been me sat with him, but I was too angry with myself to do anything but cry.

He hadn't even left a huge suicide note, just a simple:  
"I couldn't go on living anymore as the one who got away."  
I'm not sure if the fact he hadn't mentioned me in his note heightened or lessened my guilt. The fact he had no need to mention how I abandoned him when he needed me most was reassuring, however the fact he didn't mention me just once shattered my heart into millions of pieces. Maybe he thought it would hurt me less if he didn't.

The pain never stopped, but I owed it to him to keep on living, to have what he couldn't because he couldn't see any way out from the scars and nightmares. And that wasn't his fault.


End file.
